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The Long War ((Chaos RP))

Discussion in 'Role Playing' started by Vlayden, Mar 10, 2018.

  1. Akerath Vlayden Well-Known Member


    Omegis was a rather miserable planet, by all official accounts, in the Apektos sector; it was forever raining and had toxic marshes littering its landscape. The wildlife killed itself as much as it killed humanity trying to settle upon it, and its seasons are unpredictable at best. Worst yet, toxins were plentiful; the fauna themselves were toxic and venomous, and the vast majority of the flora were as well; it left any attempts of eating off the lands to be a suicidal venture.

    The fact the Imperium had actually colonized it at all was a wonder, but they had - four cities and a few dozen towns, and most notably, a far larger amount of mines that dug deep into the planet's crust. Omegis was home to plenty of minerals in such a manner that made it imperative to colonize, even with the senseless amounts of slaughter that occured in the first few centuries of its colonization.

    Unofficially, however, the planet had an entirely different face within the shadows. Within the southern mountains upon an independent continent, were facilities that were hidden away from the cityscape in the distance, the rest of the continent being one of forests, swamps, rivers and deserts. In such a facility, more... Dubious experiments were dealt with. Mutating poisons, mind-altering hallucinogens, and more; but those were of little consequence compared to what lay deeper within.

    Hundreds of men were abducted and implanted by the 'scientists' within with artificial organs into their chest cavity, where years later they would be killed and the organ itself - having grown and been nurtured by the captive unwillingly - harvested, before another was used to replace it. The organs themselves were then divided and used to plant a new one; a process that exponentially created more and more of these things as time went on.

    Worse yet was their use; children were abducted across the galaxy by giants in armour. Many were simply abducted - perhaps within the Imperium of Man, they were orphans and were never to be missed, grown up abused and terrified. Maybe they jumped into the arms of these terrifying titans, seeing it as better than being lost to time with no one to know them. Maybe they were taken in as tribute, worlds falsely believing these giants to be coming for the ones they believed to become warriors themselves. It didn't matter.
    Grueling, long trips through the massive, 'borrowed' ships later, the children were brought to this structure in the mountains, before being put into horrific experiments and surgeries, thrown into training that grown men would give up under - they themselves would become the Warriors, the Angels of Death.

    The Space Marines.

    But they would not be made for any chapter of the Loyalist, no organization within the Imperium of Man that spans the galaxy - they were made in secret, moulded to hate the Imperium in order to dominate it in due time. They would be trained in ways of killing - their fists turned to bludgeons that could crush any living man with ease, their bodies becoming as solid as iron. They were going to become true masters of Death, in due time.
    Hypno-therapy and gene-treatments made sure their implants - the Gene-seed that augmented them so, that turned them into the monstrous Demigods they are now - functioned as they should. Training scenarios with knives and oversized guns were given, improving their aim with both melee and ranged. They were given proper education, even, to an extent - the basics of literature to be able to read, along with knowledge of the Gene-seed's origins; not all Gene-seed was the same, and each came from a unique Legion of the eighteen Legiones Astartes, each an identity in their own right, each with glories and legends that survived the millennia.

    Ten years went by with the brutal regime, the other Astartes who had brought them watching on in their varying powered armour. Some had buckled plating that looked riveted on, others with smoother plates that seemed to fit into each other. Many had their armour painted as black as night, though some had bright, gold trimmings upon the plate as well.

    By the end of it all, they were a total of eighty-two upon the beginning of Summer, each of them given an old set of plate for themselves to equip as well. Their first, true personally owned equipment. It was bulky power armour, riveted plates and a cumbersome backpack power supply. Power cables ran along the back of their legs, uncovered, and there were gaps within the front plate as well - but the helm itself was thick and had a hefty amount of plating to it, and the frontal plating as a whole felt promising.

    Soon afterwards, the Lead Trainer - a tall, daunting Space Marine who's helm was sleek and featureless, with little more than the two glaring eyeslits, glowing amber over his pitch-black armour - would speak up as they armoured up with the assistance of countless assistants, men & women who equipped the fresh Astartes recruits with their new powered armour.

    "Today, is your day, Men of The long War." The Lead Trainer -- Dionus -- spoke up, his gravelly voice booming thanks to the Vox grilles within his helm. "Today, shall be the day you are set loose upon the Imperium; other Astartes shall come and buy your new, worthy services. You are the first, true Astartes to be created since the dawn of the Horus Heresy for this purpose; You shall make us proud, you of the hundred who have survived this training that has not been seen since the Great Crusade. Soon, a whole batch of two hundred strong shall take your place this time in two decades. Then three hundred, then four -- we shall rise against the Corpse-Emperor!"

    A stomp of his boot, and those of the other Astartes that taught them followed, a shockwave coming through the steel floor - one that was followed with the eighty other recruits that he spoke to. A well of pride was in them all, now; they could do it. They could rival the Adeptus Astartes, their most hated foe, if not overwhelm them, once they make more of these facilities.
    "You shall be seperated into groups, and sold as such - we shall gear you with what any proper Man of War shall need- more than just your fists of course. The filth of the Imperium are weak, but even a proud World Eater would find himself drowning in the blood, if they were to go as such." A small bout of chuckles came through from the dry attempt at humour. But it was true- they were ready now, and they would soon be leaving into the real world. "Now, come - equip yourselves in your Crusade Armour, such is what our new destiny will require; a proper Crusade, one of which has never been seen by the False Imperium in ten millennia!"

    One such group that was said was soon pulled aside - as the rest of the recruits were as well, brought into their own groups of varying sizes - some being perhaps alone or with two, one such group being over a dozen strong; the notable one however was one that was merely six strong; each from their own backgrounds and each with a general recognition of one another. It was a common sight amongst the groupings, many who were strong in brotherhood with another being seperated, at times being thrown with another acquaintance or one they barely knew of past name.

    ((OOC: post as you will, socialize, suit up, so forth))
    @Jorimel @Uriel1339 @WanderingJester @Grall_Stonefist @Taec @bossaroo
  2. Uriel1339 Uriel1339 Lord of Posts

    "Dyromedes. Son of Horus." He nodded to the rest of the group as they stood together. "I'm sure you all are talented warriors. But leave the big ones to me. Like in stories of old, as my Gene-father has, I shall take on the biggest and strongest of foes and slay them. Not only for victory, but in order to win recognition, honor and reap the rewards of my trophies!"

    The young lad who looked like one of the luckier ones with almost no mutation, besides his turning into a Space Marine, boasted with confidence, throwing even a fist into the air. He was fully clad, making it hard to see any of his features below. But while they were getting readied from the non-servitors, the others may have spotted his bald head. The reason plain and simple - to have a closer appearance to the arch-liberator. His eyes were small and the iris dark brown, almost as black as the pupil itself. His statue was not as impressive as that of the two Death Guards in their ranks, but nonetheless he was the third tallest as it looked on first glance in the group. Not quite as masculine as the World Eater or the Dark Angel, but in top-form either way, like all of them were, if his pride would allow him to such thoughts.

    He grinned beneath his helmet in satisfaction. They all might be a little bit taller, have a little bit more muscle. But the one attribute they will never have as much as he does is endless devotion to the cause at hand. To fell the Imperium. To avenge his father and slay the God-Emperor. After all. How can they have such strong emotion without anything bonding them to such eternal hate?

    None of their primarchs were slain by the self-declared ruler but in truth enslaver of humanity. His hands clenched tightly and he closed his eyes, recalling the memories burned into his brain through the hypno-therapy. And as the memory played froze it in his inner mind right at that spot, when the Corpse-Emperor annihilated his primarch. Not just murdered, but obliterated. Soul. Body. Even history in the following times. He clenched his teeth, not fighting the hatred, the sadness, the wish to fight under the banner of the Sons of Horus - not the Black Legion knockoff.

    The emotional pain attached to a goal. That would drive him further than any of these Astartes surrounding him right now. And one day he will return here. Not as a recruit, trainer or purchaser. But to reclaim this facility in the name of the Sons of Horus. Not to make easy cash, but to create Space Marines in order to lead a crusade into the heart of the enslaved human capital, Terra.

    "And more importantly, my new brothers. One day we shall march into the Golden Palace and kill the Emperor. Heed my words, for we shall make it happen. We will liberate mankind and be more than mere mercenaries! We will be champions of chaos!" Dyromedes ushered with utmost excitement, not scared of letting his emotion show.

    "What are your own goals with this newfound strength?" He asked the group in curiosity.
  3. "If your gene father was so great, why did he fuck up and die?" Shabran asked with a wry smile, some of the world eater casualness bleeding through his psycho therapy even at this young age, "No offence but as far as i know my sire still wreaks havoc across both realities" he contenuid while he was arming up in his new suit of armour, secret fierce pride also burned in his chest, where so many had fallen over the years, he was now amongst the chosen, the strong and mighty, his new armour was a mark of that, that he was one cut above the rest of humanity, Imperial dog or chaos follower. Though with his pride a small sliver of indignity still burned, he was not yet complete he knew that, he had learned that the true sons of Angron, no matter warband nor legion had something called the butchers nails, decreed by Angron himself to set to the skulls of all his sons, that they gave true fury of battle and dedication to the patron blood god, he would have it even if he had been denied it here so far, an then he would be complete.
  4. Jorimel Jorimel Well-Known Member

    Nykton looked around as the roar of the crowd subsided. He was tall, but he didn't have the presence of some of his fellows - or at least, he chose to keep himself to himself. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. His eyes were black pools in a face so white it would make a corpse look tanned. This, with his black hair and likewise jet armour made him appear monochrome, almost a chiaroscuro of a real Space Marine.

    He didn't know what to really think of the gathering, or his impending - sale? Was he trained to fulfill some kind of order, like an expensive weapon, or was he to be auctioned off like a slave? Something intrinsic within him rebelled against the idea, a tide of disgust that appeared without warning. It was quickly gone, but it left residual confusion in its wake. Nykton set his jaw, bringing his training into play. He was an Astartes and he was focussed and battle-ready.

    "We will bring death to the False Imperium!" He added his voice to the cheers at the end of the speech. In truth he didn't really know what that meant. Years of conditioning had focussed on his skills; there had been history, but he knew that he didn't feel the same visceral hatred as the older warriors. The veterans of the Long War. He stood closer to the group he had been assigned to and listened to what they had to say.

    "I am Nykton," he offered, quietly, "I specialise in stealth and reconnaissance." Maybe focussing on that could calm the fight he could see coming. Better to spend such energies on the enemy. Whoever they turned out to be.
  5. KnightReborned WanderingJester Well-Known Member

    Lezan leaned against the wall as their instructor gave his speech, then as the others around him spoke of their ambitions, specialties, and sires. When the warcry shouted, he remained silent. The newly minted space marine had felt the hatred of the Imperium and everything it stood for in his two hearts, but, even through thousands of hypnotherapy and indoctrination, give up his control of self in moments of meaningless aggression. Indeed, the issue of ending the corpse on Terra didn't seem nearly as pressing as getting new gear, as Lezan inspected his power armor.

    It looked better put together than some of their 'brothers,' even if everything's outdated and none painted. Lezan had no weapon in his hand, which bothered him quite a bit more than he thought it would. After all, they had been extensively trained to kill just as easily with their hands, all the more now that they were wrapped in power armor. Still, he just felt wrong having nothing in his hands. From what the armor told him, the astartes knew that they would not get quality weapon either from their trainers. He just hoped that whoever 'buy' them would provide better gear, or opportunity for acquiring some.

    Unlike the Son of Horus, Lezan had his helmet mag locked at his side, his golden hair draping down to his torso. His dark green eyes observing their group of six, moving from the ones that spoke to the ones that hadn't. The astartes also felt little in regards to his gene-sire; the Lion, while interesting, was irrelevant, unless he ends up meeting the primarch. His sons in the Imperium attracted Lezan's attention much more; if the rumors were true, they had obeyed Guilliman's Codex Astartes in the letter only. Meeting one would likely require the astartes to kill his loyalist counterpart, provoking retaliation.

    While Lezan did not fear a war with his loyalist gene brothers, he also knew that he would not last long against them, if nothing else than having old gear. He flexed his hands and realized he would need to bloody them quickly in order to hone his skills for the inevitable day he and the First Legion crosses paths. His eyes traced back to the World Eater who addressed the Horus son. After a moment, he spoke up. "You want to beat that corpse on Terra? Then go and find Abaddon and swear yourself into his services," Lezan spoke, his words firm but without a bite. Indeed, he sounded disinterested, almost bored.

    The green eyes shifted to the World Eater; the tales of their gene father's rage legendary. "If you admire the Red Angel so much, then do the same. If you're fortunate he may not kill you on sight." Lezan shifted his attention back to the Son of Horus, Dyromedes. "I have no desire on some suicidal quest to assault the dead heart of the corpse's empire just to spit on his grave. If you wish to break your own body upon its defenses, do not count me amongst your numbers. You're right about one thing though: I will be a champion of chaos." Looking at his empty hands again, he curled the digits into a fist before releasing them slowly. "Right now, I'll settle for some better armor and weapon, and worry about what comes next after."
  6. Shabran notted to Nykton after he had presented himself, that was before the golden haired one started speaking. When he was done Shabran just looked at him, with a half wry smile"Heh, and here i had started thinking it was the son of Horus here who would be the arrogant prick of the squard, the more you know" as he had finished with armouring up, his helmet also on belt, No need for it at the moment, Shabran did hope it wasent only him and Nykton who wasent Egolomaniacs allready. He shrugged as he ran an armoured hand through his black dreadlocked
  7. Uriel1339 Uriel1339 Lord of Posts

    "Stealth? In power armor? That is possible, Nykton?" Dyromedes wondered out loud towards the quieter Astartes.

    But he had still to respond to the two more energetic warriors. "You two could've at least shared your names. But either way, for me it is about revenge more so than anything else. And to free humanity from the shackles of slavery the Corpse-Emperor has put onto them. And as for Horus... Was it not for him, we all would have been born as slaves to the Imperium, living a life without purpose, only orders. But no. We were born under the banner of ultimate freedom. The loyalist scum call it Chaos. We call it liberty."

    Dyromedes was convinced and brushed off the brute comment of the World Eater, meeting the feistiness with a smile. This kind of rivalry was exactly what spurred the Primarchs to greatness, or so the passionate youngling expected it to be like. How else had Horus exceeded everyone in everything the only one being able to even stand up to their creator? Everyone else would have fallen easily, but not Horus. He killed Sanguinius and bound the false Emperor to his throne, leaving him withering and his beloved Imperium weak. It was him, and no other Primarch was capable of it. And one day, Dyromedes will finish what his gene-father started.

    "I wonder who we will enter into service to. I hope it is a proper warband and not some raiders or alien archeologists." The Son of Horus shadow boxed a bit in excitement, not wanting to let his mind rest on the groups differences, but desiring to look ahead in what was before them. Glorious battles, rich rewards and maybe build a proper brotherhood like the bonds the legions of old possessed between them.
  8. Jorimel Jorimel Well-Known Member

    "Stealth is possible," Nykton said, softly. "But it isn't if one is storming through barricades or leading a charge, bolters blazing. You have to ... want to be in the background. Eventually, you convince everyone else that you're scenery." He offered a rare smile, a slightly lopsided grin.

    "It's not a fast track to glory, but it's not a swift journey to Death's right hand."
  9. KnightReborned WanderingJester Well-Known Member

    Lezan stared at a bored manner at the World Eater first, then the Son of Horus and finally the Raven Guard. The former and the latter didn't actually address him, so he ignored them. The would be conqueror of the Imperium and slayer of its corpse emperor barely did, so the astartes figured it would only serve to antagonise everyone further by ignoring them all outright. Therefore, he shrugged at the World Eater and said, in the same disinterested voice, "Lezan."

    Lezan made no comment otherwise, merely leaned against the nearest wall and crossing his arms. He contented himself with observing reading the others, and would respond to a direct address, but did not bring up much to add in regards to conversation. The astartes supposed that they would showcase what each could do when the fighting starts, and while he did have a slight curiosity as to who would command them, he let Dyromedes do most of the wondering. All he really wanted was some nicer gear, even if he had to picked it off of a fresh corpse he had slain moments before.
  10. Taec Taec Arkhona Vanguard

    Durek enjoyed the speech, and the prospects it held. The destruction of the scum sill loyal to the corpse that sat on their precious golden throne was a thought that crossed his mind daily. He cheered with the rest of the forces who listened to the speech, before turning his attention to the group he now found himself with. After they had all spoken, he nodded, and introduced himself. “I am Durek.” He simply said. He turned to the son of Horus, and gave an extra nod to him. “I like the way you think, a great attitude towards the misguided servants of the corpse god.”

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